Moments
by Broken Boys
Summary: The definition of friendship is simple. It comes to us in the quiet moments. It comes to us during difficult times. Friendship is what holds us together. This is Chlark friendship fic set after the events of Reckoning.


I'm usually very good at expressing myself. I am a writer, after all.

I've never been one to hold my tongue. That Chloe Sullivan always speaks her mind. At least, that's what I've heard other people say about me. But for someone who is constantly expressing their thoughts and feelings in adverbs, adjectives, nouns, prepositions, articles, what have you, I'm having the most difficult time choosing a simple card to let him know that I'm thinking about him. A simple card to let him know that I care.

So many cards. So many phrases.

I guess it's really not that odd that none of them state in print the simple words that I can't seem to bring myself to speak.

Actually, I have no doubt at all that he knows I care. There's just too much that's happened for him not to know, you know?

All of the adventures that the three of us used to go on. There was always someone or something weird popping up almost every week and we would take it upon ourselves to investigate it. To stop it. We would hang out at the coffee house and talk for hours about all of the 'hardships' in our lives. The parents trying to control us. Not being as popular or as cool as we thought ourselves or, at least, wished ourselves to be. The horrors of homework and mind numbingly boring teachers. Then, there were the nights we would work until dark to make sure that _The Torch_ met its deadline.

It seems like it was just yesterday. But it's actually been years since our little circle dissolved. Maybe it began to dissolve before Pete moved away.

I'm not sure.

But no matter how much I would like to deny it or simply ignore it, my friendship with Clark changed after Pete moved away. We were still good friends. We still are. We still had our buddy system. I mean, come on. We still do. I don't know. I guess –

"Umm, ma'am. Can I help you find something? If you can't find what you're looking for here, I can point you in the direction of the other card display over by the magazines."

"Oh. That's okay. I'm going to get this one."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything." The sales girl says to me as she walks away heading towards the next customer she spots who appears to be in need of assistance.

How embarrassing. Standing here completely lost in my own thoughts. Smooth move, Sullivan.

I have absolutely no idea what the card says, but I pay for it and hurriedly shove it in the pocket on the inside of my jacket.

Maybe Hallmark can say what I can't.

I know I'm not the only one that thinks of the Kent farm as a second home. The Kents were the perfect family. The ideal. It's hard to believe that that's changed.

He wasn't my father, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Clark. Mrs. Kent. Is anyone home?" I call through the screen door.

No reply.

Strange. Someone almost always answers right away. Panic is about to set in when I see him walking towards me from the direction of the barn with a large box in his arms.

"Oh. Hi, Chloe. I didn't notice you pull up. Is…is everything okay? I mean - I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

He looks so sad.

"Nothing's wrong, Clark. I was home for the weekend visiting my dad." I instantly realize my mistake, but I keep talking and wish my big mouth away. "I was headed back to campus and thought I should maybe stop by and visit a friend." I say as I pull the screen door open for him and plaster a smile on my face that hopefully doesn't look hideously fake.

"Thanks, Chloe. You know you're welcome here anytime." He says as he places the box on the counter and smiles back in return, a smile that's beautiful on his face, even though it doesn't hold any of it's usual brilliance.

As he moves away from the box, I can see on the side in Mrs. Kent's neat handwriting 'Jon.'

The emptiness that Mr. Kent left in the house is a tangible thing and I'm glad that Clark's back is to me when I shiver.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks as he takes two glasses off of the shelf and starts to fill one for himself with tap water.

"That would be great, Clark. Whatever you have will be fine. But I don't want to interrupt what you're working on. I can get it myself." I tell him as I take the glass from where he's sat it on the counter and open the refrigerator to see what they have.

Coke. Tea. Milk. Lemonade.

I've never thought of myself as a big milk drinker. But for some reason, I pour myself a glass of it and drink almost all of it down with the refrigerator wide open and the bottle still in my other hand. Maybe when I'm over the mortification stage and look back on this weird milk thing, I'll rationalize it and tell myself that I did it as a way of connecting to Clark. Or maybe I'll just realize that I let my nerves get the better of me, and I just grabbed the first thing in reach.

"And I thought I liked milk." Clark teases as he takes the bottle and the glass from my hands, refills my glass, closes the fridge, throws the empty bottle in the recycle bin, and walks back over to the box placing my glass and his glass on the table beside it.

"Thanks." I say under my breath as I walk over to the table and sit in the chair across from him.

Everything is wrong and both of us can feel it.

I haven't gotten embarrassed around Clark for quite some time and I don't think he's ever been this formal in my presence.

He's so depressed. He feels guilty.

I visited him a few days after the funeral. He told me how he felt his father's death was his fault. He told me how his decision to go back and change the past had broken his mother's heart and had taken away the most important person in both of their lives. He shared with me how hard it was to be polite. How difficult it was to nod and shake hands and accept hugs when all he wanted to do was be left alone.

He regretted saying it later, but he even told me that the next person that asked 'if there is anything I can do, please let me know,' he was going to tell them "Unless you can bring my father back, no." I guess he felt bad about it because no matter what happens to him, he's not the type that would ever be rude. Never.

Jonathan Kent just didn't raise him that way.

"Earth to Chloe."

"Is that supposed to be funny in some twisted sort of way?" I say as I catch myself lost in my own thoughts for the second time in as many hours.

He smiles at me. The big, bright one. It feels sincere for the first time since it happened.

But without thinking I say, "What's in the box?" and the moment is gone. The smile is still on his face, but it just doesn't belong there anymore. His eyes meet mine just for a second and I hate what I see there.

Pain.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Clark. It's none of my business. I should – " I say as I quickly stand.

"Hey. Hold on, Chloe. It's okay. It's okay." He says as he reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry."

"Please, sit back down."

Both of us sit. I wrap my hand around my glass just to have something to hold on to. Just to have something to ground me.

"My – my mom had to go to Metropolis today. She had some things to take care of. I offered to go with her, but she said that she could take care of it."

I don't think he even realizes it, but as he's speaking to me, he's running his thumb over his dad's name on the side of the box.

"There are boxes here and there… you know, around the house, in the attic, in the barn. There are boxes of my father's things around that need to be gone through. Mom has gone through a lot of it herself. We've gone through some of it together. She said that I - I should look through what's left to see if there's anything I want. If there's anything that I want to keep. This is one of the last ones that was stored in the barn. I was just about to go through it when you got here.

"Oh."

"You can help me if you want. If you're not in a rush to get back to school or anything. If you don't mind."

"No rush. I can help."

"Thanks." Clark says. His voice is so soft. He lifts the box from the table and heads to the living room, moving in a way to block my view of his face so I won't be able to see the tears filling his eyes. But I do. That's one of my faults, I guess. Seeing things I'm not supposed to.

"Umm, there are some boxes in the closet over there, too. Maybe I can look through them. I'm sorry, Chloe. I – " He drops his eyes to the floor before he raises his head to look me in the eyes again.

"I guess it's easier, in a way, for me to do this with someone here. Someone that I can trust. Someone that I care about." He says, turning to get the boxes from the hall closet before I have a chance to respond.

Someone that I care about.

I'd forgotten about the small card in my pocket and part of my reason for coming over. Needing to take a look at it to see what it says before I actually consider giving it to him, I reach inside my jacket and pull out the slightly bent card.

It's very simple. Nice, neat, preprinted lettering. Actually, it's kind of what I was looking for and I must have been really out of it to not realize that as I was holding it in my hands all that time.

I pull out my pen to add a personal touch to it.

Just as I finish signing my name, I hear a loud crash from the hall. Pen and card forgotten on the coffee table, I rush to see what's happened.

I stop dead in my tracks as I round the corner. I can actually feel my stomach drop.

They're everywhere and I can't seem to move fast enough to gather them all up. This is not the first time I've witnessed their effects on him. I know that if I get them away, he'll get better. But right now, that does nothing to remove the fear from my heart.

"Why? Why are these in the house?" I yell to no one in particular.

There's a pained moan from Clark and it kills me that I can't move as fast as he does. I see four of them. I look for more, but that's all I can find.

Moving as fast as my legs will carry me, I run them out of the house and to the barn, sitting them on a table. When he's better, he'll tell me how and where to dispose of them.

When I get back, I instantly know that I didn't get all of them. He's wheezing. He's barely breathing. I can see those green veins on his hands and arms. On his neck and face. He's trying to move away from wherever it is, but he can't.

"Oh god, Clark! I don't see anymore! I don't see anymore!"

I carefully lift his arms, his legs, and his head to see if any of them are underneath him. I straddle his body and lift him into a seated position by pulling on his shoulders to see if there is possibly one under his back.

Having not a clue where it is but knowing there has to be a rock somewhere that I haven't been able to locate, I grab beneath his arms and drag him away from the closet.

I've only moved him about five or six feet, but I can already see the dark veins starting to disappear.

I pull him back just a little bit more, this time with more assistance from him, and within a matter of moments, it's as if nothing happened.

All I can do is sit down on the floor behind him with my arms still under his.

I'm sure that later on we'll talk about why there were meteor rocks in the house and why he hadn't been aware that they were there. I'm sure that it will all make sense when he explains it to me.

But it will have to wait.

It will have to wait because this moment is almost too much to bear.

Everything is wrong and both of us can feel it.

The memories of Clark's father are scattered before us. Pictures of warm, summer afternoons with them together as a family. A photo of Clark standing between his mother and father. He's just a little boy looking up into the eyes of the most important people in his life, but right now it's the saddest thing I've ever seen.

More photos. Treasures. Keepsakes. Precious possessions.

I can feel him shaking in my arms and I know it has nothing to do with his recent exposure. I suddenly find myself thinking of what could have happened if I hadn't stopped by today. I start thinking about what could have happened if Clark had been exposed to those rocks when no one was around.

My face is wet and I don't remember the tears actually starting.

I can't bring myself to say anything.

I know I should. There should be something that I can say to comfort him, but in the end I know there's not. All I can do is be here for him. Let him know that I care. Hold him.

Be a friend.

As we both shed silent tears, I think back to the card that's lying on the table.

I think about the truth of those words and pour everything that I have into comforting him.

The End


End file.
